


Aurora

by ElDiablito_SF



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Feels, M/M, POV First Person, Poetic License, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(I'm still hung up on the idea of human!Cas and humanized!Crowley and am bitter than canon totally squandered the opportunity to develop this dynamic....</p><p>... and also they're in love.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aurora

I arrive right before dawn, right as that one pale streak of light begins to color the skies hailing the aurora. Castiel is asleep, but he’s always been a light sleeper, the dip of the mattress beneath my weight enough to awaken him. He shifts and purrs, leaning into my arms, an angel-cat, all curled up on himself, but uncoiling to let my body sidle up and into the grooves of his human limbs.

When I was human myself, long before I had ever become the red smoke, before the Throne of Hell was even an inkling in my convoluted subconscious, I was never fond of cats. Funny creatures, felines. Finicky. Have to be daft, really, to get attached to them, because they don’t give a toss. You think they’re your pets? Bloody hell, you’re theirs. They’ll play with your toys, walk all over you, drink all your milk like wankers, and then leave. You want their love? Well, you better bloody well earn it. 

That’s Cas.

I lean in closer and run my fingers through his hair. Bed-head is becoming on him. His hair smells of sweat and dead skin; it clearly hasn’t been washed in a few days. But I don’t care, I like him like this. Like this, he needs me. He needs the milk and the shelter that I can provide, and all the many little mice for him to catch, to keep him well-fed and entertained. The soft, downy hair on the back of his neck is covered in a thin sheen of sweat too. The touch of it makes me think of feathers.

I have barely touched him and already the smell of his skin is filling my head with hundreds of wicked ideas of what I want to do to him, of what I’d like him to do to me, to do _for_ me.

His body is warded against angels, but not against me. I am welcome here. He moves his legs, letting me slot my own alongside, to intertwine with his limbs. He weaves his long fingers in between my own. I can tell he’s drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He’s pliant and vulnerable like this, and it makes my chest feel so tight, like its my early Hell-days and I’m still on the rack and there’s nothing on the other side of it, nothing but pain. An eternity of pain. But it wasn’t an eternity. And then there was this.

“You love me,” he whispers, hand reaching back to caress the contours of my face, fingers brushing gently against the velvety skin of my earlobes. 

“Nonsense,” I reply, letting my lips brush the skin of his neck as I speak. “Have you forgotten who you’ve given your ass to, Castiel? Demon. Incapable of love.”

His body is warm. I trace the outlines of his shoulderblades with my fingers and remember the way they fold and unfold (almost like wings) when I ride him. I want that again. The feel of his body opening up to welcome me and shutting the gates again once I’ve breached it and holding on tight, holding, holding, until we both crumble.

“Liar. You love me,” he repeats, neck craning into my scattered kisses. His fingers scrape against the skin of my scalp and I feel frozen and aflame at the same time.

“You think you’re the only one, Castiel? Do you know how many people are willing to whore out for the King of Hell, even in my current predicament?” I don’t know why I say these things. No, I do, I do know. Because he’s a cat, and because he will leave me, and I won’t let that hurt me again.

Long after we’ve spoken words of apology and forgiveness to each other, no longer remembering who said “I’m sorry” and who said “I forgive you” because there was so much to be sorry for and so much to forgive, what will remain of us? A scattering of feathers and a pile of ash? What kind of a phoenix can rise up from those ashes, and how high could such a bird ever truly fly?

“How many?” he asks, his voice too full of amusement.

“Hundreds. Six hundred sixty-six. Daily.”

He shifts in my embrace, limbs moving, torso twisting, face turning towards me. No, look away, I can’t stand the way you look at me, with your planetarium eyes and soft sighs of your millennial breath against my skin. His arms are now wrapped around my body as mine are around his, and I know that I could stay this way forever. But I won’t. The sun is rising. I’m not at my best at this time of day.

“I love _you_ ,” he says. He isn’t doing this to be cruel, but it feels like he is flaying me alive. For just a moment, because then he seals his promise with a kiss. It’s soft. He’s not trying to push himself inside me, but in another minute, perhaps he can even sense it, I’m going to ask him for that very thing.

“ _Now_ you do,” I reply, my own voice hoarse and choked up with the anticipation of my request and his acquiescence. Because once you’ve earned this cat’s love, he doesn’t say no. 

I can see the creases around his eyes from here. The lines along his forehead. If they had truly reflected his age, they would have the depth of the Grand Canyon.

“All we have is now,” he says, and he is right, because his flesh is mortal, and I can still feel the blood of Sam Winchester inside me, turning me into something I barely recognize myself. Just one drop, just one tiny spell away from being the same as my fallen angel. Would I do it now? Would I leave it all only to be able to say ‘Yes’ to his question that isn’t a question? _You love me._ The end.

He’s broken but he’s perfect. I want to gather him into my hands, like grains of sand, and put him back together. The curtains are drawn tightly so that it’s still dark inside this small room, but inside my chest, deep down, by the coiling of the red smoke, there is a light.

There isn’t anything else to do. I’m going to stay right here. I’m going to hold him until my lips surrender to the insistent prodding of what’s left of my heart. I’m going to stay.


End file.
